Putting on the Dog

by Cynthia Baxter

  “And I owe it all to you, Jessie,” he went on. “Like I told you last night, I never would have thought of approaching Phyllis. But you’re one of those people whose mind knows no limits. You’re a genius !”

  I was barely listening. Instead, my eyes traveled around the room, taking in all the familiar faces. My heart fluttered when I spotted another key player in the scene I was about to stage.

  The lights in the lobby flickered, a sign that the afternoon’s entertainment was ready to begin.

  “It’s showtime,” I thought, my heartbeat racing and my mouth so dry that I gulped down a few sips of champagne just so I’d be able to swallow.

  It was time for step three. I fought the feeling of anxiety that rose inside me, just from thinking about it. For one thing, the timing was critical. For another thing, it was going to require some pretty skillful acting on my part.

  “Let’s sit together,” Chess suggested.

  “Sure,” I replied vaguely. “But first, there’s something I have to do.” In response to his look of surprise, I added, “Ladies’ room. Save me a seat.”

  Instead, I sidled up to Kara Liebling, who I’d just noticed strolling toward the theater with her dazzling white borzoi at her side. Kara was also a vision in white, looking particularly angelic in a 1950s-style chiffon party dress with a full skirt that resembled a cloud and a diaphanous shawl loosely draped around her bare shoulders. Her soft blonde hair was piled up on her head and tied with a satin ribbon the same pale blue as her eyes. A few fetching tendrils spilled around her face, flattering her perfect features and luminous skin.

  I caught up with her just as she was about to enter the small auditorium. “Kara!” I cried breathlessly. “I’m glad I ran into you!”

  “Hello, Jessie. How nice that you could make it.” Smiling sweetly, she added, “I thought you were going back home today.”

  “I am, as soon as this is over. But first...Kara, do you have a minute?”

  She glanced at the stream of people surrounding us, laughing and chatting as they filed into the theater. “Now?”

  “It’s important.” Afraid I was losing her, I pulled out the ace up my sleeve. “I don’t usually get involved in anyone’s personal life, but I have something to tell you about Shawn.”

  An unmistakable glimmer of interest flickered in her eyes. “All right,” she agreed.

  “We need to find someplace private, where no one can overhear.” I headed toward the hallway, then gestured toward the unmarked door. “Let’s go in here.”

  “What is this, a closet?” Kara asked uncertainly.

  “The area behind the stage. It’s perfect. No one will overhear.”

  I held the door open for the actress and her sleek white dog, then followed. As soon as we were inside, Anastasia wandered off to sniff her new surroundings. Kara, meanwhile, turned to face me.

  “What do you have to tell me about Shawn?” she asked anxiously. “Has he said something?”

  “I think you’ll understand in a minute, Kara,” I replied. “First, I have something to show you.”

  I fumbled with the papers I’d pulled out of my tote bag, meanwhile reaching behind me quickly to flick on a switch I kept hidden with my body. Then I held up the copy of the photograph of Kara with Christopher Vale and Richard Strathe I’d made the night before. “Does this photograph mean anything to you?”

  She gasped. “Where did you get that?”

  “Let’s just stay I stumbled across it while I was trying to find something else—like my dog.”

  “I—I don’t know what you think that is, but it’s not...”

  “I know exactly what it is,” I assured her calmly. “It’s proof that you hired these two thugs to beat up Delilah Raines in a dark parking lot.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  “I think you do, Kara. You set the whole thing up, and Devon Barnett was the only person who knew about it. In fact, he was blackmailing you.”

  “You’re crazy! That Xerox copy is probably some kind of composite or something. As for Devon Barnett blackmailing me, that’s simply absurd. You have no way of proving these ridiculous accusations!”

  “Actually, I do,” I assured her in the same even tone. “Not only do I have the original photographs Barnett kept in his files, but I also have the payment records, written in his own handwriting.” I hesitated. “I also have proof that you’re the person who killed him.”

  Kara’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, so you snooped around and found some dirt. So what if Barnett was blackmailing me? He was blackmailing half the people in Hollywood! Every one of them would have liked to see him dead. What makes you think I’m the one who killed him?”

  “Recognize this?” I held up a tiny rhinestone, its usual sheen dulled by the thin layer of dust covering it. “I found this on the floor of Suzanne Fox’s veterinary clinic last night, right after you followed me to her office—no doubt with the intention of doing whatever you had to do to put an end to my investigation.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  “All the pieces have finally fit together, Kara,” I went on, sounding much calmer than I felt. “You knew I was investigating Barnett’s death from the get-go, didn’t you? You’ve known all along that there was never any doubt in my mind that he’d been murdered. Chess probably told you on Monday, the day after Barnett was killed— the day you and I ran into each other in Chess and Devon’s kitchen.

  “So you tried to scare me away. First, you tried leaving dead animals on my front porch. When that didn’t work, you kidnapped my Westie. And because you knew I was trying to find out who killed Barnett, you watched me. You saw me come out of his house last night, carrying his files. You could see for yourself that I’d discovered what was going on—and that I was taking his records so I’d be able to prove it. You followed me to Suzanne Fox’s office in Poxabogue, hoping to stop me. And you almost did. I was all alone in that empty office building. You were about to come inside and kill me, too, weren’t you? You’d probably even figured out a way to make it look like an accident. But Suzanne and her friend Marcus showed up unexpectedly, so you had no choice but to run off. Of course, you were in such a hurry that you never noticed that one of the rhinestones fell off your Emilio Fratelli shoes.”

  She just stared at me without speaking. But I could see by the look of horror in her eyes that I’d gotten everything right.

  “You’d used an Emilio Fratelli shoebox to deliver your last cash payment to Barnett,” I continued, “and he stored it in his closet. By the way, you’re probably the only person in the Bromptons who’s still wearing them. And as soon as I found this rhinestone in Suzanne’s office last night, right after I was followed, I remembered you were wearing them the day you and I watched the Toy Group judging together at the dog show. You also had them on when I came to your beach house with Max and Lou. I remember studying your outfit, noticing how perfect everything was except for your shoes. They were decorated with sequins and geegaws, but some of them were missing. Since I’d never actually seen a pair of Emilio Fratelli shoes before, I didn’t make the connection right away. In fact, it wasn’t until I found this rhinestone that everything snapped into place.”

  By this point, Kara’s face was twisted into an expression of absolute fury. It was funny, even though she was considered one of the most beautiful actresses in Hollywood, at the moment she looked positively ugly.

  “But there’s still one thing I don’t know, Kara. Why did you do it?” I continued. “Why did you hire those thugs to beat up Delilah Raines—and why did you kill Devon Barnett?”

  I held my breath, expecting her to continue to deny everything. Instead, she glanced around, as if wanting to make sure we were still alone—and that no one could hear us.

  “Since it’s just the two of us,” Kara said coolly, “and since you seem to have figured the whole thing out, I’ll tell you precisely why I did it, Jessie. No one would ever believe you, anyway. Not if
the only ‘evidence’ you have is a silly rhinestone. After all, there are dozens of people who could have killed Barnett. That slimy blackmailer had lots of enemies. If I hadn’t killed him, sooner or later somebody else would have. I just happened to get to him first. His greed started getting out of hand once he found out my career was about to skyrocket. Just a few weeks ago, he arranged for us to meet so he could tell me he was tripling my payments! I couldn’t afford to risk him going public with what he had on me. It would have meant the end of my career. I couldn’t let that happen, could I?”

  Her tone was no longer matter-of-fact. Instead, it was ice cold.

  “As for the incident with Delilah, that was nothing personal,” Kara went on. “It was just business. She had something I wanted: the starring role in Day of the Unicorn.I simply had to have that part. I was meant to play Catherine the Great. It’s exactly what I need at this point in my career.” Shrugging, she said, “I knew from my agent that I was the studio’s second choice. At that point, it was simply a question of getting their first choice out of the way.”

  “You’ve been quite a busy lady, haven’t you?” I observed.

  “I’ve always had to work my butt off for everything I ever got,” she replied nastily. “You have no idea how competitive the movie industry is. Besides,” she went on, her voice practically a growl, “I did everyone a favor by killing Barnett. That creep was as low as they come. I deserve a medal for what I did.”

  “Unfortunately, a jury might not agree.”

  The voice sounded muffled, since it came from the other side of the burgundy-colored velvet curtains. But I knew immediately who it belonged to: Lieutenant Anthony Falcone.

  Kara gasped as he emerged from behind the thick folds and stepped toward her.

  “What—what is this?” she sputtered. “Who are you?”

  “Lieutenant Anthony Falcone, Norfolk County Homicide,” he replied, holding up his badge. “And you are under arrest for the murder of Devon Barnett. Anything you do or say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney....”

  “How could you hear us?” she demanded.

  “Microphone,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Somebody hooked up the sound system. The mike’s probably hidden somewhere in these curtains.”

  Clipped right onto the fabric, I thought smugly.

  “But—but you don’t understand!” Kara insisted. “I was acting! Everything you just heard me say was from a script I’ve been considering! I was just trying it out to see if the dialogue sounded realistic!”

  “It sounded realistic, all right,” Lieutenant Falcone said. “Very realistic. Like I started to say, anything you do or say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney....”

  Kara whirled around to face me. “Jessie, is this your doing?”

  “No, Kara,” I replied solemnly. “It’s yours. ”

  Falcone, still reciting the Miranda rights, took a step closer to Kara, holding out a pair of shiny silver handcuffs I figured he’d gotten from one of the local cops patrolling the estate.

  It’s over, I thought with satisfaction. Now all I have to do is find out where she stashed Max....

  As if thinking about a furry white dog had been enough to bring it on, Anastasia suddenly lunged into our midst from out of nowhere. The giant borzoi leaped between Kara and Falcone, emitting a frightening snarling sound as she lunged toward the police lieutenant, raising herself up on her two back paws and thrusting eighty pounds of solid muscle against his shoulders.

  Caught completely unaware, Falcone reeled backwards from the force. Still, it only took him a second to regain his composure. By then, Anastasia had positioned herself in front of her mistress, growling menacingly and daring her attacker to get even a single step closer.

  Falcone aimed his gun in her direction. I could see by the hard look in his dark eyes that his instinctive reaction was to get rid of the dog—fast.

  “No!” I cried. I stepped forward, my own instincts taking over.

  But my interference wasn’t necessary. Falcone was fast, but Kara was, too. Anastasia’s protectiveness had bought her the few seconds she needed. The slender blond ducked behind the curtains, vanishing inside the fabric’s thick folds.

  “Is there another way out of here?” I demanded.

  “Don’t worry. She won’t get very far,” Falcone returned.

  I wasn’t so sure. I charged toward the burgundy-colored drapes, flailing around blindly in an attempt at grabbing hold of her before she got away.

  Then let out a shriek of surprise when I felt hands grab me from behind. Before I could react, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist as tightly as one of Raffy’s snakes. I gasped, feeling all the wind rush out of me.

  “Since you got me into this,” Kara hissed, her mouth close to my ear, “you can get me out.”

  She began dragging me away from the curtains. Even though I squirmed as hard as I could, trying to wriggle out of her grasp, she turned out to be much stronger than she looked.

  Her iron grip only made me struggle harder. But my gasps turned to hoarse choking sounds as she crooked her arm around my neck and squeezed. I struggled desperately to catch my breath, snorting loudly and blinking hard to stop myself from seeing stars.

  “You may recall that I played a prostitute who moon-lighted as an assassin in Woman On The Brink,” she growled. “I trained with a Marine drill sergeant for six weeks!”

  “Convincing movie audiences that you’re tough and actually being tough are two different things!” I shot back in a rasping voice.

  “Maybe you’ll find this more convincing.” I suddenly felt something cold and hard at my temple.

  A wave of terror rippled through me. At the same time, I was vaguely aware of the sound of something large and heavy being dragged. Kara loosened her grip and I managed to focus on what was going on around me.

  Once again, I saw stars. But this time, it was a different variety. Someone—Falcone, probably—had pulled open the curtain. Beyond the apron of the stage was an entire galaxy of stars, their eyes wide as they watched the scene that was unfolding before their eyes, their expressions reflecting a mixture of astonishment and horror. Behind them, I could see photographers and reporters from the Long Island and New York City television stations clustered together. The bright lights shining from the video cameras indicated they were getting every second of this drama on tape.

  I felt Kara tense up again, tightening her grip on my throat and pushing the barrel of her gun harder against my temple.

  “You all knew what a bastard Devon Barnett was!” she yelled, this time addressing her shocked audience. “How many of you was he blackmailing? We all have secrets! We’ve all done what we had to do to get to where we are! Deep down, do any of you really blame me for what I did? Can any of you honestly say that you haven’t thought about doing the exact same thing?”

  “All right, it’s over,” I heard a soothing voice behind me say. It was such a switch for Falcone that it took me a moment to realize who it belonged to. “Just put the gun down, Kara. You’ve had your say.”

  Instead, she pushed it more deeply into my flesh. “What’s the penalty for killing two people, instead of one?” Kara demanded, her voice shrill. “How much worse could it be? If I have even a small chance of getting away, why shouldn’t I take it?”

  She started to shuffle toward the edge of the stage, dragging me with her. I noticed that a few of the men in the audience were rising to their feet, as if getting ready to take action.

  “Let them go,” Falcone instructed the audience coolly. “Nobody move. We’re not going to mess with her when there’s a hostage involved.”

  Wait a minute! I thought frantically. That hostage is me!

  My mind racing, I told myself he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. He had to have a plan. Or at least he was buying himself time.

  If Falcone did have a plan, I certainly didn’t know what it was.
With the entire room looking on, Kara began pulling me down the stairs, off to one side of the stage, one step at a time. By this point, many people had left their seats. They stood in clusters along the edge of the theater, watching with alarm as the two of us shuffled down the aisle toward the doors along the back wall.

  “If I see one person try to leave,” Kara called out, “or one person take out a cell phone, this nosy veterinarian is history! At this point, I’ve got nothing more to lose! I mean it!”

  The room was perfectly still. No one spoke and no one moved. And then, a tiny flicker of motion caught my eye. I suspected that Kara was still focused on the crowd, watching to make sure no one tried anything. Not wanting to tip her off, I forced myself not to turn my head to get a better look. Then I noticed more movement out of the corner of my eye....

  All of a sudden, it was as if a giant bird swooped down from the sky, directly behind us. I realized that something was swinging in our direction, using one of the ropes I’d seen backstage. I couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but I heard Kara let out a howl of surprise. I also heard deep-throated grunts that sounded vaguely familiar.

  Most important, I felt Kara loosen her iron grip on me.

  Without pausing to think, I wrenched myself out of her grasp, at the same time twisting my body around so that I faced her. I reached down and grabbed the gun. Holding onto it with both hands, I pointed it at her heart.

  It was only then that I was able to figure out what had happened. Less than a foot away from me, Kara stood paralyzed by the pair of strong arms that gripped her— arms that belonged to Hugo Fontana. I realized he’d managed to sneak backstage, most likely before the curtain had opened and maybe even before Falcone had made his grand entrance. Then, at just the right moment, he’d swung across the theater like Erroll Flynn or some other swashbuckling movie star by grabbing onto one of the ropes hanging backstage. He’d used it to plow into Kara, feet first, surprising her and knocking the wind out of her—and giving me a chance to break away and grab her gun.

  “It’s really over now,” I told her. I gripped the gun, holding my hand steady and trying to look menacing, even though I questioned whether I’d ever have the nerve to use it. Thanks to Hugo and his powerful biceps, I wouldn’t be forced to find out—at least, not this time.